


sunlight, before exhaustion

by treeviality



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: (putting on my clown shoes) this is EXACTLY what i expect to happen in c2e124, Found Family, M/M, POV Essek Thelyss, Pining, Post-Episode: c2e123
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-02-03
Packaged: 2021-03-14 01:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29163390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/treeviality/pseuds/treeviality
Summary: Eventually, they run out of words.Silence follows. It settles heavily on their shoulders, stills their hands, bends their backs. From across the table, they look far less like the fairytale that Essek sometimes tells himself to calm his own mind. They look less like courage and invincibility, and more like flesh and bone.(Or: the Mighty Nein comes to Essek for help.)
Relationships: Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Essek Thelyss
Comments: 47
Kudos: 321





	sunlight, before exhaustion

**Author's Note:**

> So I was like, this week I have five thousand things to do and only one teaspoon of free time. Why not spend _literally all of it_ racing against time to write a fic that will only have any reading value whatsoever for, like, two days at most, and then will get jossed sky high by canon events? To everyone who hoped this is an update to any of my WIPs, from the bottom of my heart - uhh, my bad. But Matt said 'Essek Loves The M9 Actually' and I was like, _Ah, fuck._

*

Eventually, they run out of words.

Silence follows. It settles heavily on their shoulders, stills their hands, bends their backs. From across the table, they look far less like the fairytale that Essek sometimes tells himself to calm his own mind. They look less like courage and invincibility, and more like flesh and bone.

Essek looks at the wounds on Beauregard’s body, only half-covered with her coat. He looks at the imprint of fingers on Caduceus’ throat. He looks at the red eye on Caleb’s shoulder.

Their skin is no thicker than his own. It’s a terrifying thought.

“You will be safe here,” Essek says, once he can trust his own voice. “I have rooms prepared for you. There is food as well. Our healers will tend to your wounds.”

His words do little to ease the tension in their shoulders. After a moment, though, Fjord nods.

“Thank you,” he says graciously. “We appreciate that.”

“Of course,” Essek replies, inclining his head. “It’s the very least I can do. And tomorrow, I will arrange for an escort for you to Uthodurn. You will be able to teleport from there.”

There is a pause.

Beauregard runs her fingers through her hair, caking it further with blood. Then she drops her hand to the table with a dull thud, apparently too exhausted to keep holding it up.

“Oh, man,” she says. “We lost him somewhere there, didn’t we?”

There is suddenly a sinking feeling in the pit of Essek’s stomach.

Jester meets Beauregard’s gaze. She folds her hands on the table and leans towards Essek.

“We are not leaving, Essek,” she says quietly, almost gently, and her eyes are unbearably kind.

The sinking feeling in the pit of Essek’s stomach opens up into a gravity well.

“No,” he says. He stands up, which barely makes any difference, and nearly slams his hands on the table. “You are _not_ going to follow them.”

“We have to stop this,” Caduceus says.

Yasha adds, “He was our friend.”

“We can’t simply walk away,” Beauregard finishes.

“But you _can_ ,” Essek snaps. “This has nothing to do with you. You said yourself that your friend is gone. This is not your responsibility.”

For a moment, there is silence. The Mighty Nein watches him impassively, as if he is speaking a language they don’t fully understand. 

Then, very quietly, Jester says, “But we _loved_ him, Essek.”

Almost as if on cue, the Mighty Nein looks away. Beauregard clears her throat and blinks rapidly as she stares off to the side. Yasha crosses her arms over her chest and looks down. Fjord pushes away from the table altogether and walks over to the nearest window. Veth slides down in her chair, nearly hiding from sight. Caleb shoves his hands into the pockets of his coat and turns his head away from all of them.

“I don’t think,” Caduceus says carefully, “that we can walk away from this.”

“And if there is even a slightest chance that we can save him,” Jester adds, “then we need to take it.”

Now, it’s as if they are speaking a language Essek cannot follow.

“He almost killed you,” he says. “And he will try again. This is suicide.”

“It very likely is,” Caleb speaks up. Throughout most of the conversation, he remained silent. Even now his voice sounds distant, vacant. “Still, we will go.”

As one, the Mighty Nein nods.

“I don’t _understand_ ,” Essek says, watching them in helpless frustration.

Strangely, it’s this statement that seems to drag Caleb out of his thoughts. He looks at Essek and smiles faintly.

“I know,” he says softly. “Someday, you will.”

*

He finds Beauregard with the healers. She is sitting on a makeshift bed, with her legs crossed at the ankles. Yasha is in the room as well, her back propped against the wall and her arms crossed over her chest. The healers work in silence, cleaning the cuts on Beauregard’s arms. The water in the basin is a sludge of brown and red. Beauregard seems unbothered, her legs swaying lightly, her gaze trained on the window and the starless night stretching behind it. From time to time, she catches Yasha’s gaze, then sends a wink her way.

After a moment, Essek clears his throat. Yasha startles and levels him with a heavy look, while Beauregard barely glances in his direction, seemingly already aware of his presence.

“I told you, man, that I can just sleep it off,” she says.

The healers are now bandaging the cuts on her arms, pointedly ignoring the conversation. Essek frowns, leaning against the door frame.

“I don’t think you can _sleep off_ an open wound, Beauregard,” he says.

Beauregard snorts. “You’d be surprised,” she replies. “We’re made of sterner stuff than you realize.”

“Be that as it may,” Essek says, “you still bleed just as expected.”

Beauregard huffs, seemingly gearing up for an argument, but then Yasha clears her throat softly.

“Thank you, Essek,” she says. “We need all the help we can get.”

Essek falters a little at that. Surprisingly, so does Beauregard.

“We need _more_ help than we can get,” she corrects, looking off to the side again. “But yeah. It’s good to have a place to stay the night.”

“Of course,” Essek says softly. “You may stay as long as you wish.”

“We’ll be out of your hair in a few hours,” Beauregard continues, talking over him. “We just need the magic people to nap a little. ”

Essek frowns. “You should rest as well.”

“Nah,” Beauregard says, waving her hand. The healers expertly dodge her gestures. “I don’t need to. I’ll keep watch.”

Essek bites his lip. “I have told you,” he says, “that you are safe here.”

“I don’t think anywhere is safe from this,” Beauregard says, raising her hand. Underneath the wraps, the eye is not noticeable, but Essek is still keenly aware of its presence. “Besides, Lucien killed Vess DeRogna in her sleep. What makes you think you can keep us safe from him?”

“I can,” Essek says, and distantly, he remembers his own words to the contrary. They only strengthen his resolve. “I _will_.”

Beauregard blinks. “Um, okay,” she says. “If you say so. But still, I think —”

“And if I keep watch?” Essek interrupts. “You could rest and I’d alert you to any danger.”

Beauregard seems to consider this, her brow furrowed in thought. She exchanges a look with Yasha, who offers a shrug and then a nod. Beauregard sighs.

“Fine,” she says. “But the second you hear something weird, you wake me up.”

“Deal,” Essek says. 

*

Essek is wandering through the maze of dark, narrow corridors, heading towards the quarters assigned to the Mighty Nein, when there is a soft click in the shadows.

He freezes, listening intently, noting the way the torchlight flickers in the draft that wasn’t there a moment ago. He cradles a spell in the palm of his hand and waits, observing the play of shadows in the darkness. Just as he exhales, certain that it must be the weather playing tricks on him again, a bolt whizzes past his shoulder and buries itself in the wall. Essek whirls around, only to find Veth standing before him, with her crossbow in hand. Her expression is contemplative.

“Not bad,” she decides, circling Essek to examine the bolt, buried neatly between the stone bricks. Then she directs her thoughtful gaze to Essek. “You’ve heard me coming. Impressive.”

“What,” Essek says, “the _hell_.”

Veth shrugs, putting her crossbow away.

“I’ve heard you’re taking the first watch,” she says. “Had to check if you’re up for it.”

“Do you think,” Essek snaps, “that I would be _up for it_ with a bolt in my shoulder?”

Veth snorts. “If I had been aiming for your shoulder,” she says, “the bolt would be in your shoulder. I assure you.”

For a moment, Essek can only stare at her. Then he shakes himself out of the stupor.

“And?” he says. “Did I pass your… test?”

“Stop fishing for compliments,” Veth scolds him. “I suppose you will do.”

“I’m so very pleased to hear that,” Essek replies venomously, crossing his arms. “If that’s all…?”

Veth deflates a little at that. She sighs, tugging uncomfortably at the sleeves of her coat, suddenly refusing to meet Essek’s gaze. Essek lets her fidget for a moment longer. Then his annoyance dissipates.

He sighs. “Go on, Veth.”

She huffs. “Stop rushing me.”

She reaches to her pouch and pulls out an envelope. She weighs it in her hands for a moment. Then she extends it towards Essek.

Gingerly, Essek accepts it. It’s heavy, filled with so much parchment that the seal is straining to keep it closed. After a moment, Veth reaches to her neck and takes off her button necklace and shoves it into Essek’s hands as well. Then she levels him with a glare.

“I don’t like that I’m giving you this,” she says. “Then again, I guess it’s appropriate.”

Essek frowns. He looks down at the envelope, then flips it over and flinches. On top of it, in a surprisingly neat handwriting, are written two familiar names.

“If we don’t come back,” Veth says, looking at the envelope instead of meeting Essek’s gaze. “You will make sure this gets to them. Right?”

For a moment, Essek’s throat closes off completely. Then he swallows forcibly.

“I will,” he promises. “You have my word.”

Veth’s lips twist briefly. “Your word doesn’t mean much to me,” she says. “But I guess it will have to do.”

Essek bites his lip and nods. He opens up his pocket dimension and places both the letter and the necklace inside. Then he lets it shimmer out of existence again.

“That’s a neat trick,” Veth comments.

“It’s not a difficult spell,” Essek replies automatically. “I could teach you, if you’d like.” Then he remembers himself and clears his throat. “Someday.”

“Sure,” Veth agrees easily. “Someday.”

Just as quickly as she appeared, she disappears from sight. Essek listens for footsteps, but this time he hears none. After a moment, the torchlight flickers in the draft. Then, the air once again becomes still.

*

Caduceus and Fjord are already in the Mighty Nein’s quarters. There are both sitting on the floor, with cups and a teapot standing beside them. Fjord is sitting with his legs crossed and his back ramrod straight, his head held high, his expression serious, while Caduceus has drawn one leg to his chest and rests his chin on top, his ears twitching peacefully from time to time, a soft smile playing on his lips. Their eyes are closed.

Essek pauses in the doorway, hesitant to enter. He is not a believer but he has been raised in a house of faith. He recognizes prayer when he sees it.

“Come in, Essek,” Caduceus says quietly, without otherwise moving a muscle. Fjord cracks one eye open and raises an eyebrow at Essek, but he seems more curious than annoyed.

“I don’t wish to interrupt,” Essek replies. His voice sounds uncomfortably loud in the quiet of the room.

“You are not interrupting,” Caduceus says, while Fjord offers a shrug.

When Essek hesitates for a moment longer, Caduceus opens his eyes, a smile still tugging at his lips, and then he pours some tea into a third cup and pushes it gently towards Essek.

He says, “I would hate for this tea to go to waste. It’s a good blend.”

Fjord’s lips twitch, but his eyes remain closed. Essek shoots Caduceus a suspicious glance, which he returns with a placid look of his own.

“Very well,” Essek says.

He crosses the room, wincing when the floorboards creak beneath his feet, and then he kneels, sitting back on his heels. He feels a little like he often did as a child, invited to play with others despite never quite knowing what to say and how to act.

“Go ahead,” Caduceus encourages, and so Essek picks up the cup and takes a careful sip.

Then he winces, barely resisting the urge to spit the tea out again. Fjord opens his eyes and grins.

“Terrible, isn’t it?” he says.

“Oh, no,” Essek rushes to reassure, “it’s, it’s certainly… it’s certainly unique, but it’s —”

“It’s terrible,” Caduceus says serenely, taking another sip. “But it’s good for concentration, for sharpening skill. You might need it tomorrow.”

Essek frowns. “Tomorrow?”

Caduceus hums noncommittally. Fjord clears his throat.

“Essek, any insight on that anti-magic thing that Lucien has?” he asks.

Essek hums. “Not more than… than your wizard has likely already shared,” he says, faltering midsentence. “The only solution I see is to spread around, flank him.”

“There are nine eyes on his body,” Fjord points out. “There’ll be no flanking him if they are all… active.”

Essek bites his lip. “That only leaves long-distance spells,” he agrees. “And, of course, non-magical means.”

“If we can’t use magic, we are fucked,” Fjord says. “Then again, I guess we are fucked anyway.”

“I don’t think so,” Caduceus says mildly.

Fjord blinks at him. “You don’t?”

“No,” Caduceus says. “I think that mostly, it depends.”

“On what?” Fjord asks incredulously.

Caduceus only shrugs, closing his eyes as he sips at his tea. He doesn’t open his eyes again, seemingly done with the conversation.

Fjord continues staring at him for a moment, then shakes his head and turns to Essek.

“By the way,” he says, “have you seen Jester?”

*

Jester, it turns out, is not at all difficult to find. She is sitting in the corridor just across from where the Mighty Nein will be staying for the night, her back propped against the wall, her notebook resting in her lap. When Essek approaches her, he thinks he sees a flash of a green cloak from the corner of his eye, but when he blinks, it’s gone. Jester looks up from her notebook and smiles at him.

“Hey, Essek,” she says. She pats the stone floor by her side. “Come here.”

Essek winces inwardly, but he nonetheless lowers himself to the cold floor. In comparison, Jester’s arm is surprisingly warm, as is her hand as she absently pats his knee before returning to her notebook. There is no pencil. She isn’t drawing. Instead, she is flipping slowly through the pages.

Despite the invitation, Essek feels like he is intruding, so instead of glancing at the notebook, he settles on studying his own hands. The cold hasn’t been kind to them, leaving blisters here and there, his gloves usually abandoned for the purposes of casting. Absently, he picks at his nails, until Jester reaches over and stills his hands.

“Caleb wouldn’t like that,” she chastises him, then grins widely.

Essek blinks at her. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t worry about it,” Jester says. She winks at him. “Hey, do you want to see my drawings?”

“I do,” Essek agrees, eager to change the subject.

Jester nods excitedly, flipping back to the first page of the notebook.

The very first picture is a caricature of a man, trapped on a balcony. His head is extremely large. Jester snickers a little, but offers no explanation as she flips to the next page. This one, she pauses on for a longer time. It’s an open window, with the view of a city below. For a moment, Essek looks for a humorous element here as well, but finds none. There are only the clouds passing through the sky, the glimmer of the ocean in the distance, the bustle of the streets below.

Essek swallows, his throat strangely tight. “It’s beautiful,” he offers.

“It is, isn’t it?” Jester says quietly. She sighs. “Maybe we’ll get to visit again, someday.”

_Someday_ , Essek thinks. 

Jester skips through a few pages. They rustle like dried flowers beneath her fingertips. She settles on a drawing of two fortune reading cards.

“This is where it really begins,” she says softly.

The cards mean nothing to Essek, but Jester smooths her fingers down the page with a small smile playing on her lips. She doesn’t comment further as she moves on, flipping to the next page.

Some of the drawings make no sense. Some of them are caricatures. Some of them are of people Essek has never met. But every once in a while, there is a drawing of a different kind. There is one of Beauregard, sitting at a table in what looks like a tavern, with a book splayed in front of her, an annoyed look on her face. In another, there is Fjord, standing on the deck of a ship that Essek now recognizes, silhouetted by the blue of the ocean. In the next one, there is Veth and her family, all dressed in yellow overalls. In another one, there is Caduceus, looking up at the lit up tree above their house in Rosohna.

And in one there is Caleb, curled up in an armchair with Frumpkin in his lap, his shoulders relaxed and his hair slipping from his tie. His spell book is closed, resting on the small table by the chair. His gaze is trained on the fireplace, but there is no tension in his expression, no misery in the twist of his lips. From a certain angle, he could almost be smiling.

It takes Essek a while to realize that Jester has stopped flipping through the pages, letting him stare at the drawing. He looks up swiftly, with an excuse on the tip of his tongue, only to find Jester watching him already. Strangely, though, the smile on her lips isn’t teasing. Instead, it’s a little sad.

“It’s difficult to catch him like that,” she says quietly. “He very rarely is content.”

Essek’s heart twists in his chest. Jester continues to hold his gaze.

“Can you guess when I drew this?” she asks, prompting Essek to look down again.

As he focuses on the drawing, he notices more details this time. The cut of Caleb’s coat. The shape of the windows in the background. Finally, on top of the spell book, the small, shining pearl.

Essek closes his eyes for a moment.

“It’s Rosohna,” he offers quietly, forcing himself to meet Jester’s gaze again. “Your house.”

Jester nods, glancing down at the notebook.

“We didn’t really have a home, before,” she says softly, brushing her fingers down the page. “We didn’t have anywhere that felt familiar. Safe.”

And then Essek took that sense of safety away from them.

“I’m sorry,” he rushes to say, unable to keep the words from spilling out. “I didn’t, I —”

“It’s okay,” Jester interrupts gently. “We are safe again.”

Essek doesn’t know what to say to that. Suddenly, it all feels inadequate. The protective wards around the outpost, the spells he put around their quarters, the food he picked for them, the medical supplies he offered.

Jester closes her notebook. “I think,” she says, “that I should get some rest now.”

“You should,” Essek agrees. He pulls himself to his feet, wincing when his body protests the treatment, and offers Jester a hand.

She accepts it easily and lets him struggle briefly with pulling her to her feet.

Then she laughs. “I got this,” she says, standing up and brushing down her coat. “Out of the two of you, I do think Caleb is a bit stronger.” She winks at Essek. “Something to think about.”

Essek stares at her incredulously, but she ignores him entirely as she skips merrily towards their quarters. Essek follows in her footsteps, hoping to find everyone already settled in, and instead nearly collides on the doorstep with Beauregard.

“Have you seen Caleb and Veth?” she demands.

Essek sighs.

*

It doesn’t take long to find them.

The outpost is well guarded against the strange beasts that roam the land, but it’s far less guarded against the cold. Heavy wind rolls over the stone walls, the snowfall thick enough to look like fog, and Essek begins to shudder the second he closes the door behind him. The guard at the door gives him an incredulous look, but he doesn’t question Essek as he pulls his hood over his head and starts his trek over the stone walls.

He finds Caleb and Veth with ease. They are standing side by side, watching the horizon, their silhouettes dark against the grey of dawn. They are completely still, but as Essek takes another step towards them, the snow crunching beneath his boots, Veth suddenly pats Caleb’s arm and turns around. When she stops by Essek, her eyes flash.

“Better don’t fuck this up,” she says, then moves past him without another word.

Essek sighs inwardly, pushing his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat, and carefully makes his way over to Caleb.

It’s still nearly dark, despite the moonlight reflected in the snow, despite the brightening of the sky in the distance. Yet Caleb didn’t put up his dancing lights, didn’t light up a flame. His hands are in the pockets of his coat, the end of his scarf is dancing in the freezing wind. His hair is tied, but a few strands already slipped loose. He barely moves when Essek stops by his side.

Only after a moment, he says, “I didn’t expect it to end this way.”

The words send a shiver through Essek that has nothing to do with the cold.

“End?” he echoes.

Caleb’s lips tug briefly into a smile. “Surely you can see the odds are stacked against us.”

“The odds never stopped you before,” Essek points out. “You have defied them more than once.”

“Sure,” Caleb agrees with a small shrug. “But even lucky bastards like us finally run out of luck.”

There is no response Essek could offer to that.

The line of the horizon continues to brighten, smudges of light spreading over the snow. The wind softens, letting snowflakes settle peacefully on Caleb’s shoulders and cling like specks of silver to his hair. With a quiet, futile longing, Essek wants to fix the scarf around Caleb’s neck, wants to turn up the collar of his coat, wants to brush the snow away and tuck Caleb’s hair behind his ears.

Instead, he says, “You should get some rest, Caleb.”

Caleb smiles, again. It’s distant, lopsided, and has nothing to do with happiness.

“I don’t think I can,” he says. He rubs at his arm, where the eye resides. “I don’t think it’ll let me.”

“You should try,” Essek insists. “You will need your magic tomorrow.”

“It’s already tomorrow,” Caleb points out absently. “And my magic did nothing the last time. I…” he falters. “I couldn’t do _anything_ to keep them safe, Essek. Anything.”

“But you did keep them safe,” Essek says, even as his heart once again twists in his chest. “They are all here. They are all alive.”

“For now,” Caleb replies quietly. “I’ve seen that city. I’ve seen what we are up against. We will not walk away unscathed. If we can walk away at all.”

_Then don’t go_ , Essek thinks quietly, desperately. _Then stay_.

But he understands better, now.

“I’m sorry,” he says. He swallows. “I… I, too, didn’t expect it to end this way.”

There is a pause. Then Caleb turns around, just enough to look Essek in the eye.

“No,” he agrees, and Essek is distinctly aware that they are now talking about something else entirely. And that this is not the time. And that they likely will never have time again.

For a moment, they simply watch each other. It’s not a bridge that can be crossed with touch. And it’s not a bridge that can be crossed with words. But it is a bridge that can be crossed with mutual understanding.

Essek sighs. “I’m sorry,” he says again. “I wish…”

“So do I,” Caleb replies. Then he smiles faintly. “Another life, perhaps.”

Essek inhales sharply, distinctly aware of yet another lie that remains undisclosed. But this is not the time, either. For that, as well, there likely will never be time again.

But there will be time to miss him. There will be months and months after this, years turning into decades, decades turning into centuries, centuries turning into millennia. And Essek will miss him — will miss all of them — throughout every single second, with every single breath.

And they will never return to him again.

It’s that thought more than anything else that prompts him to step closer. The space between betrayal and trust cannot be easily bridged. But the space between two bodies is just a matter of gravity.

Slowly, he reaches out, and tucks Caleb’s hair behind his ear, brushing errant snowflakes away. Then he catches the end of the scarf and loops it one more time around Caleb’s neck, tucking it neatly beneath the lapels of his coat. 

“Another life, then,” he says. He can feel a mirthless smile tug at his lips and he can’t quite force himself to look up and meet Caleb’s gaze. “Come, now. I promised to keep watch. And you really do need rest.”

He moves to turn away, but a hand on his wrist stops him in place.

Quietly, Caleb says, “Look.”

He is not looking at Essek, but his fingers remain wrapped around Essek’s wrist. Despite the cold, they are fire-warm.

And in the distance, the sun is rising. Bright light is spilling over the endless snowy expanse while darkness slowly retreats, clinging only to the distant mountainsides. The sky opens up with colors, with yellows and violets and blues. Clouds sail overhead, heavy with snowfalls yet to come. 

Caleb tilts his head to the side and catches Essek’s gaze.

_I would love for you to see the sunrise,_ he said once.

“Worth it, isn’t it?” he says now.

*

Having rejected both the offer of separate rooms and separate beds, the Mighty Nein arrange themselves into a strange compilation on the floor, and then spend a long time muttering and groaning and kicking each other under the blankets.

Caleb is the last one to lie down; first, he spends a few minutes weaving a protective dome in the air, until it settles around them like a blanket, illuminating everything with faint golden light. Only then he takes off his coat and settles in his own sleeping bag. From the corner of his eye, Essek watches him wrap the coat around his spell book and the other book he carries with him, and then place the bundle beneath his head. As he settles to sleep, his body easily slots into the puzzle the Nein created on the floor, and Essek watches in disbelief as the group seems to fall asleep nearly at the same time, their shuffling ceasing, their breathing slowing down.

For the most part, Essek focuses on watching the room. He lets his gaze sweep over the floor and the ceiling, checks the windows and doors, listens intently for any unusual sounds.

From time to time, though, he looks down at the notebook which Jester left in his lap.

In one of the pictures, the Nein is laughing together. In another, they seem to be discussing strategy, heads bowed low over several maps. In yet another, there is some kind of a ridiculous drinking contest. Then fireworks high in the sky. Then giants blocking a narrow mountain path. Then Caduceus’ straw hat. Then a sketch of Caleb’s hands. Then Yasha’s eyes. Then Beauregard, staring off at the ocean, unusually calm.

Essek pauses again at the picture of the window, notes the plain walls of the room and the endless, vibrant world outside. Notes the expanse of the sky, the enormity of the ocean, the vastness and strangeness of the town. The room, he thinks, looks warm and it looks safe. The world outside the window looks magnificent.

_Someday_ , Essek thinks. _Someday, someday, someday_.

With a Sending spell, he summons his first in command.

*

The Mighty Nein ready themselves for the journey, putting on their coats, lacing up their boots. There is a grim determination in the way they move, in the glances they share, in the words they exchange. Essek understands now, with absolute clarity, exactly how far they are willing to go. He understands that there is no convincing them to turn back.

Caleb is the last one to leave their quarters, taking care to button his coat all the way up, to wrap his scarf tightly around his neck. When his hair catches in the wool, he huffs in frustration, tugging irritably at the scarf. With himself, he is impatient and unkind, in a way he would never be with the Mighty Nein. The discrepancy tugs at Essek’s heart.

Slowly, he steps closer. He reaches out and, when Caleb doesn’t step back, he carefully untangles Caleb’s hair from the wool of the scarf, not quite daring to look up. Then he fixes the scarf, wrapping it securely around Caleb’s neck, and turns up the collar of Caleb’s coat. 

And then, still without meeting Caleb’s gaze, he says, “I’m coming with you.”

The air in the room seems to still completely. Somewhere outside, Essek can hear the Mighty Nein. He can hear the howl of the wind, the voices of the guards. In the room, however, there is only their shared breathing.

Then Caleb speaks up. “You said that this is suicide.”

Essek smiles faintly. “It very likely is,” he echoes, pushing his hands into the pockets of his coat. “Still, I will go.”

Caleb continues to stare at him. He is yet to step back. “I don’t…”

“…understand?” Essek finishes, arching an eyebrow, continuing to smile. He looks up and meets Caleb’s gaze. “Maybe someday, you will.”

Before he can move further away, Caleb catches his arm. He doesn’t say anything, only steps forward and slowly, nearly mirroring Essek’s gestures, he fixes the scarf around Essek’s neck.

*

  
It’s a beautiful day. There is sunlight, spilling over the snowy plains. The sky is blue and vast. As they walk farther and farther away from the outpost, the world opens up around them, and it becomes difficult to remember the narrow corridors, the low ceilings, the stone walls. Instead, there is open space, stretching into every direction. Instead, there are clouds passing overhead. Instead, there is companionship, and safety, and warmth.

Somewhere along the way, Jester pushes a pair of gloves into Essek’s hands. Somewhere along the way, Beauregard punches him in the shoulder, grinning and ducking swiftly when he tries to retaliate. Somewhere along the way, Fjord claps him on the back. Somewhere along the way, Caleb’s knuckles brush lightly against Essek’s hand.

Somewhere along the way, desperation turns into focus.

And then it turns into hope. 

_the end._

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! ♥ 


End file.
